


There's a Line, and John Has Come Right Up to It...

by waveofahand



Series: 30 Second Fanfics [4]
Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 30 Second Fanfic, Daddy!Paul, John Lennon is incorrigible, John hopes so, M/M, Paul McCartney likes it that way, Paul will have to be very stern with him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 22:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveofahand/pseuds/waveofahand
Summary: It's Dallas, and the Beatles are enduring one of the stupidest press conferences, ever, which is saying a lot. And John Lennon, standing next to Paul McCartney, has had just about all he can stand of it. And he wants to be bad. So he is.





	There's a Line, and John Has Come Right Up to It...

The reporters in Dallas were swarming and crushing all about them, and John Lennon had already tired of the rank stupidity of most of the questions being lobbed their way. When one clueless reporter asked [_**Ringo Starr**_](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dl7oxB4cx2n4&t=ODI1MTI0MTI3Y2RkOGE1ZDQzNzk1OGRiNjVhOWJiOWQ0N2MyM2Q1YixwRW11YUd2Tw%3D%3D&b=t%3AuO8BpybVRo3OwY3yBhGfvg&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwaveofahand.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F187052158108%2F30-second-fanfic-john-and-paul-share-a-look&m=1) whether he might give his recently removed tonsils to a fan, Lennon had had enough. Approximating a posh, upper-crust-ish voice, he helped Ringo out by announcing, "He'll probably give them to _me_, because I am _merry_!"

Well, what was being "merry" after all, he thought, but another way of saying, "gay"? He could feel eyes on him as he turned and shot a sly look at his best mate and partner, Paul McCartney. He could guess what Paulie was thinking, and so he just smiled at him, as if to say, "See what I did, there? What are you going to do about it?"  
  
_I'm in for it, now, _John thought happily. _Paulie's gonna let me have it._

_I can feel his eyes on me, without needing to look. We’re surrounded by a hundred people, all pressed in close upon us, and all I am aware of – all I can feel in the world – is the force of his eyes on me. Those huge, ridiculous, all-knowing, moody eyes that light my way when they are not chiding me, or swallowing me up, or burning into my soul and setting me aflame. That fucking profile, it means he is turned my way, and his eyes are on me full force, scanning me down to my lips and back, and yes, I can feel it. _

_He’s like a predator and I’m his prey – like a lion who is contentedly watching his oblivious dinner. _

_But I am not oblivious. I can sense his stare; I can feel the heat as his eyes travel down my face, and I already anticipate the little smile that goes with it, and I know what it means. It means Paul McCartney is a diplomatic, super-confident Black Irish Laird who underneath his courtly manner is nothing but appetite. Who – once he’s set eyes on what he wants – always assumes he’ll have it. _

_But I’m on to him. I spy that smile and, okay, yeah, I catch my breath a little (because even now I can’t look at this beautiful fucker without gasping), but I narrow my eyes and turn to face him, letting him know he’ll have to catch me, first. And he smiles and sparks a look, and indulges me because he knows exactly what I’m doing. And I look at him and can’t hide my own grin because I love this game, even though I know damn well he’s going to win it before we even start playing. _

_But I’m going to give him that look anyway, the one that lets him know I intend to provoke him a little, drive the overprotective controller in him just a little bit mad, until he must act and then we both win. _

_Christ, look at that face. _

_And yeah, there he goes, turning his attention toward someone else the second I look at him. _

_Because that’s the way the game is played. _

_That’s how he keeps me running after him – chasing the fences, chasing the Chieftain, chasing daddy – and it’s how he keeps the press from noticing all the looks, all the messages, all the secrets that pass between us of an instant. _

_Like the look radiating from him right there, that says “I’d have you right now,” and the one from me suggesting that if he tried I’d be as yielding as water. _

_Fucking Macca. As Sherlock would say, the game is afoot. _

For Paul McCartney, this was a classic moment of "Lennon being Lennon," but John Lennon had never scared him, and it had been a while since he'd managed to throw Macca off his game too, particularly when in front of the press, where the younger man's legendary self-discipline was the precisely the anchor that permitted John to say some of the things he said -- to pretend to be incorrigible, as he just did. Whether the press understood it or not, John had just launched a dilly of a statement.

Paul doubted the American reporters would catch it, but he made a mental note to himself, to have a serious conversation with his adorable-yet-maddening partner. 

Still, McCartney felt his heart do a little ba-dump, as he took another question, and gave an automatic answer. His thoughts were full of Lennon.

_Aw, look at him, he’s so cute, my bad boy. I want to lick his face and press my nose to his beautiful aquiline one and then bite his naughty lips – those beautiful pink lips with which Lennon just announced, in the poshest of voices that he is “merry”. _

_The sly bastard! He wants to be merry, I’ll give him merry. I’ll make him downright giddy-gay!_

_And then he’ll behave himself, because that’s the game. He pretends to walk to the edge of a cliff and throws me the look that says, “See what I’m doing? I’m getting near to danger. You’d better stop me, or I’ll do it.” _

_And then I’m supposed to rein him back in with an indulgent smile, and save him from himself, which I do because I want to, because I’m invested in what we have together, creatively, emotionally, spiritually, and every other-ly you can think of, and because I can’t leave him to his own devices, because he simply has no brakes, the stupid love. He’ll take himself right over the cliff one of these days, and all of us with him. And I’d hold his fucking hand on the way down because it’s all I can do. The lad can’t help it. Neither can I. _

_And right now, I know exactly what he’s thinking: “These pressers are interminable and daddy I’m bored. These reporters ask the stupidest questions known to man…” and the answers John really wants to cast out to them – the words he really wants to say – would get us into so much trouble. _

_And he wants that. He wants trouble – it’s all over his wicked, handsome face. “Listen, do you want to know a secret…” _

_Oh, John. _

_My lad Lennon is my challenge and my delight. He wants to make a little mischief – not enough to cause an international incident, not really. That would be scary to him, too much reality. _

_He just wants to be naughty enough to require a stern rebuke from me, the kind where we get back to our room, and I close the door and lean back on it, to let him know he’s not going anywhere for a little while, and then I lower my head and give him a serious look through my lashes, and I gently but soberly tell him just how near to the cliff he has been running and why he mustn’t do that again – mustn’t tempt fate like that because one day he’ll slip right over the line and say something, about being ‘merry’ or about how much he hates the media, or about religion or politics, and it will be hell to pay. I’ll need to remind him that he must not strike so many verbal matches, when so much could burn up so quickly. _

_And he’ll act naive, and tell me I am overcautious and controlling. He’ll say I don’t know what I’m talking about and then I’ll be forced to tell him very firmly where the acceptable perimeters and safe boundaries lie. _

_And then he’ll pretend to defiance, until I am forced to SHOW him where the limits are – make him understand why he needs to behave. _

_And I will do it, because that’s my role. _

_And then my lovely lad will feel so reassured about everything that he’ll be as gentle as a kitten, settled and purring under my hand. Because that’s what a bad boy like John Lennon needs – someone to explain where the lines are, and what might happen if they are crossed; someone who follows through and holds him accountable if he gets too near the boundaries, and therefore makes him feel safe, and loved, and contained. _

_Oh, my sweet. _

_My bad, bad, boy. _

_You stir my blood and squeeze my heart like nothing in this world. _

_And I’m gonna take good care of you, oh, yes I am. _


End file.
